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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28262424">We Fit Together like Dick and Cunt</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lomanni/pseuds/Lomanni'>Lomanni</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Bullying, Canon-Typical Violence, Comedy, Crime Fighting, Disturbing Themes, Drama &amp; Romance, F/M, Fights, Fluff, Hate Sex, Hate to Love, Love/Hate, Potential Spoilers, Requests, Rough Body Play, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Smut, johnny is so hot plz help, make requests, see notes - Freeform, taking requests</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:26:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,204</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28262424</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lomanni/pseuds/Lomanni</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Warning: disturbing themes are in this work. Please see notes for further details and remember to stay safe.</p><p>Comment requests for future chapters!</p><p>A collection of semi-related one-shots about V and Johnny's experiences in the same body, both good and bad. Gradual romance and lots of strife ensues!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Johnny Silverhand &amp; V, Johnny Silverhand/Female V, V - Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>79</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter One: The Morning After</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello, everyone :) potentially upsetting themes in these stories include: kinda non-con smut, graphic description of injury/violence, invasion of privacy, bullying and suicide themes (no attempts). Please exercise caution if you think you could be affected by any of these.</p><p>Feel free to make requests for future chapters! I have a few ideas for things to do next, but I'm more than happy to write things you guys would like, too :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Good morning, Night City!</em>
</p><p>Her breath is hot underneath the covers of her blankets, and when her hand attempts to pull them away so that she may breathe fresher air, she cries out in pain. The blue hue of her apartment’s technology mixed with the rising sun outside are like knives cutting though her eyelids, hungry for the optical nerves behind them. If dying was a visual sensation, this, she thinks wearily, would surely be close to it.</p><p>“I felt the same when I saw your face. Of all the joy-toys I had to be stuck with, I got an ugly one.”</p><p>V goes still, tensing each muscle in her body like a petty thief caught in the headlights of NCPD’s patrol cars. Her mind begins retracing its steps to yesterday—the horrific nightmare she had sorely wished to be a display of delusional fiction… was real? Had the terrorist nestled in her skull not been a figment of her imagination to cope with the loss of Jackie, one of the only men she’d been able to rely on in, well, <em>forever</em>? <em>Fuck</em>.</p><p>“If you’re trying to hurt my feelings, you’ll need to try a lot harder,” she retaliates quietly, swallowing her disappointment. If he wanted to insinuate her appearance was the worst he’d ever seen while being so rugged and unshaven himself, she would never take him seriously. The least he could do was put a little effort in tormenting her; she’d heard much worse from kids walking down the street— and, to begin with, it’s not like words could really hurt her. Mercs are a shining example of resilience and strength. Being a softie to some child play-insults would have gotten her killed before she could even finish her first gig in this shithole city.</p><p>Johnny takes a slow, indulgent drag from the holographic cigarette between his fore and middle finger. He either had nothing to say or was waiting for V to do something more interesting so he could truly utilise his foul mouth. Whatever the case, V was decidedly ignoring him as she shuffled to her computer. A half-eaten bag of lollies, chemically dangerous and fattening without a doubt, was partly sheltered by a few empty cans of drink. She pulled it out of its little landfill and promptly consumed the guts inside its packaging, barely chewing before swallowing. They didn’t actually taste that good despite all their artificial tampering for a quality treat, anyways.</p><p>“I’m going to shower, so you just stay the fuck away from me.” Was she hostile? Absolutely. This terrorist was slowly overtaking her brain, Viktor had told her. He’s killing her with each second that ticks by, destroying her freshly reconstructed neurons to fit his own sadistic purposes, sympathy out the window. And as if it couldn’t get any worse, the guy was a major asshole.</p><p>He doesn’t say anything. Actually, he appears to be struggling to <em>exist</em>, she observes upon turning around. His figure was haphazardly glitching in its place like a shitty porn holograph. After a few moments he disappears outright, which she is very thankful for—the omega-blocker or whatever-the-fuck-they-were-called pills were, evidently, working quite well. She could wash away her grime and cry in peace, maybe.</p><p>V’s bathroom was a little crowded. She hated the way her toilet was separated by strung beads and hated their colour even more. She didn’t have the luxury of a bathtub, either, meaning most of her cramps and flesh wounds had nothing but pills for comfort. Given her affinity for doing nothing while doused in water, it’s a real shame she doesn’t have a bath. But, alas, she still has a nice corner to sit in for her showers; the wall’s tiles are never cold because of her apartment’s very selective heating mechanisms, and the downpour of water droplets from the showerhead above her makes her wonder if rain naturally felt just as good, once upon a time. Although the pH level of rainwater had come to be less hazardous in the last decade, you still had to look down when walking through it in case your face was sensitive or you blinked some into your eyes. Buildings that faced the most moisture were faded and spotty; time was pressed into their coatings a century quicker than it should have been.</p><p>V zones out for a while under the water, thoughts neither here nor there. Flashes of Jackie’s face and Johnny’s looming figure over her struggling form occasionally surfaced to the front of her brain, but she pushed them back as they came by rubbing her eye and ocular implant roughly with the palms of her hands. The trauma of the past week definitely had to be worked through, but the biggest priority for V was still getting the nasty fucker sharing her brain evicted—and maybe being a bit comfortable with her lifestyle while she healed from all the drama. Viktor had instructed a week’s rest to help her mentally and physically adjust to the changes in her body, and he was going to monitor her progress very closely to provide a time estimate about how much longer she had until… well...</p><p><em>Fuck, </em>she inwardly cursed. Part of her didn’t even want to know her time limit; knowing your time of death is a severe limiter on the quality of your remaining life and, quite frankly, she’s scared shitless. Sure, she takes risks every day by taking on gigs and getting into trouble where she shouldn’t, but at least she actively chooses to take those risks. This biochip was something she never signed up for. It was a cancer spreading maliciously— slow or fast, she didn’t know yet. But maliciously still. And it was too far in to cut out with a scalpel</p><p>“Just how high are your water bills?” Her cancer weakly visualises in front of her. Water seems to pass right through him. “You’ve been here for an hour.”</p><p>“Get the fuck out! Get the fuck away from me!” V all but screams from the floor. Her knees tightly press against the mounds of her chest and each other, concealing her nipples and, she hoped, the majority of her nether regions. Johnny scowls at her measures as though she were stupid, which further elicits rage in her. “You sick dog!”</p><p>“In case you hadn’t noticed already, we are<em> stuck </em>together. When you piss, <em>I’m pissing with you.</em> When you shower, <em>I’m showering with you. </em>Only way I am going to stop,” he eerily leans forward, dark swatches of hair drooping to frame his face like a loose hood, “is if you put a bullet through your mouth right now.”</p><p><em>Oh, so this is an intimidation tactic?</em> V begins to hyperventilate. The mix of anger, shock and sadness was like a poison in her bloodstream. Her blood felt so thin it could simply dissipate through her skin, and the effects of her runny substance was felt through the intense beating of her heart. She was a bag of anxiety and sloshing liquids—a bag of hatred and pure panic because, <em>yeah</em>, it was the only way to get rid of him, but <em>no, </em>she didn’t want to do it.</p><p>“Come on, I dare you,” Silverhand hisses through grit teeth. When V remains still besides a slight shaking in her hands, he explodes. Faster than light, he throws his human fist towards her equally fleshy face. There’s no time to dodge or block, but…</p><p>
  <em>Huh.</em>
</p><p>Rather than contacting her skin, the holographic rendition of Johnny’s hand reaches through her body like a ghost. Blue lines go up and down on the edges of his being, flashing in her eyes like a little celebratory disco; <em>yay, he can’t hit me right now. </em></p><p>Johnny notices his predicament, and V can practically feel him rolling his eyes behind those thick shades he wears. “Even if I can’t touch you,” he seethes, “I will always be <em>watching </em>you. Pull the fucking trigger and get rid of me!”</p><p>It would seem Johnny Silverhand had no intention on giving up the relentless torment, she realised. This man meant business, and he truly was going to be a terrorist in her own head until she could get rid of him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Controlled</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Trigger warning for rape in this chapter. Be safe :)<br/>Also, there are supposed to be italics in this chapter to clarify stuff and indicate internal dialogue etc, but it hasn't copied over so I'll just edit the chapter later. Lemme know if there's any spelling mistakes and I'll fix them, too.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>What gang were these fools a part of? V hadn't even bothered to learn. The grip on her gun and her continued completion of this little gig she'd been hooked up with was entirely automatic. One side effect to having her brain intruded on that initially surprised her was that it was as though neither of them could be running the shit show sometimes, rather than the usual one of them and occasional both of them. V felt like she'd reversed deep into her own brain— she could technically perceive the falling bodies in her wake as she slowly progressed through the building, sure, but the display was being observed behind a screen, like a braindance in her own mind. Johnny, no doubt, felt a similar sensation the majority of the time, although she didn't really care to sympathise with his situation.</p>
<p>"You need to wake up. You're gonna get us both killed, otherwise," the familiar voice chants in her... Their... Ears. Shit, the terminology was a hard thing to get around and decide. Although V didn't want to partially surrender ownership of her body to Johnny out of sheer stubbornness, using singular 'she's to refer to aspects of herself was increasingly incorrect on a technical level— after all, it wasn't just her using them.</p>
<p>"If you won't, I sure as fuck will," he continues, and in that moment, it feels like a car has ran over her and positioned its wheel above her forehead, her skull and brain rapidly under the pressure of indescribable weight. It made her choke on the haze she'd been in like it were smoke from Johnny's close breath in her face or the smog of some back-alley club. Alertness, the desire to be awake and in control, surfaced at once, and she began panicking like she'd finally realised she were drowning under water. Johnny was her inescapable sea and she had to stay on top. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>V isn't sure if it's her own influence or Silverhand's that makes her—their? Fuck—body hightail into one of the already cleared rooms and hack the door to shut, but it happens, and for that she is greatful. The fight she was beginning with her partner-in-body would surely turn off the autopilot V's physical form has acquired, and Johnny was right on one front: they couldn't afford to slip up and die. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I'm getting up," she says, a little confused with her own word choice but nevertheless determined to win the race to complete consciousness and control. She still had the highground in the situation; routinely taking the omega-blockers as instructed by Misty was really helping to nip her disease in the bud. Johnny was a weed, he'd grow through fucking concrete if he had to, but she was still trimming his branches as they grew. He was easy to control. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You'll get us killed out there. Let me take control," his domeneering scowl was an echo in their mindspace. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"And what the fuck happens after you shoot these fools? You shoot us, too?" </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Don't take me for a suicidal lowlife. Remember, I'm not you." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Not yet, at least." The somber reminder that they'd be one and the same eventually was a thorn in both their asses. The removal of free will and self identity—the ability to recognise who you are and predict how you'll act based on the choices you make for yourself—gone. Gone. Gone, soon enough, for V and Silverhand. It was worse on V's part because this body was originally hers and she would ultimately be the psyche to fizzle out of sentience, but there was no doubt Johnny was uncomfortable with both the idea of being in a girl's body (even though it was admittedly quite nice) and having his personality permenantly altered by the corpse of her psyche, too. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Is it possible he felt guilty, too? V honestly wasn't certain he had the capacity to feel such. She'd seen glimpses— small shards of his own life before death, and it was far from charitable or kind towards others... Or himself, for that matter. His brain is totally ruined by the habits he had in life, and now his sourpuss ghost was haunting her, of all people. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Given that there isn't a retort to her sentence, V assumes victory and focuses on the present around her. Her body shakily sits down, and she uses her fingers to feel the cool, rough texture of the flooring she sits upon. Her surroundings smell a little damp and a strong waft of metallic death is ever-present from the body in the opposite corner of the room to her. The lights are a warm yellow, and the computers have email tabs open. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Slowly. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Slowly and surely, she comes back. She takes a deep breath and, finally, it feels as though it's her own. Oxygen in her collapsed lungs as she reaches the surface of her deep, inescapable dungeon of water is pure bliss. Fuck, it's like a drug; she could almost understand Johnny's addictions if they were as pleasurable as this. Almost. He's not off the hook since he voluntarily took them and they offered no benefit to his health, whatsoever. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Most of the men and women in this building were already dead. Above her, she could just barely hear someone shouting out that she must've left the building. For now, she was hidden, then. May as well get my footing back, she whispers internally, and leans her head back against a metallic crate. The cool surface helps relieve the burning tension in her brain: Johnny's seething anger and the pain of having him around. Besides the fact that her physical body had sustained a few nasty bruises-to-be, she was mostly intact and operational. Honestly, she's surprised she hadn't taken a bullet or two. There wasn't even any deep gashes from the psychos who chose to wield machetes. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You need to delta outta here, fast. They'll open the door soon enough." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Paranoid, much? Relax, Silverhand. They're not coming for a while yet." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Johnny emerges from nowhere, leaning on the wall adjacent to V's crate. His arms were crossed and his boot tapped at the ground impatiently without making a sound. It was partially disorienting; her brain wanted desperately to make up for the missing sensory information surrounding his person, but she just couldn't fill in the gaps accurately. How would those gorgeous boots actually clink on the floor? Shouldn't he smell better if she sprays perfume at him? How hot is his skin to the touch? </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Okay, that last thought was a little unnecessary. V quicky shakes the thought from her mind. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You wanna really relax?" He raises his brows. "There's a cigarette case on the desk over there. Check it." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I said I want to relax. I'm not smoking for your sorry ass." Thus far, V had been able to remain pretty stoic about avoiding cigarettes and a nicotine addiction. It cost her healthy amounts of sleep; routinely, every few hours at night, she'd be woken up while Johnny suggested she smoke rather forcefully. Could dead people even experience withdrawals? Whatever the case, their sense of taste were linked together tightly, and he craved a gross grey fog. He'd do just about anything to get it, and the desperation was steadily increasing. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Fuck, you won't smoke. You won't hire a girl. You won't even pop a pill," he sorely snarls. As time was passing, V was getting used to his ceaseless complaining, even if it still caused headaches. Johnny was such a resentful and angry man. Whenever the chance arose, he liked to take said anger out by being petty and holding grudges against random shit. At this rate, V thinks she should be paid for listening! "What do you do to wind down, huh?" He feigned interest. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I thought you'd be able to tell, since you're so insistent on combing through my life." She hoped he didn't actually study her past in so much detail; there were many embarrassing and personal things about her life, including things she wouldn't even confide with Jackie, rest his soul. The 'pathetic factor' of her life would definitely be amplified to Johnny, too, since he's such a reckless maniac in comparison to her. Shit, if he knew she was a virgin, he'd probably piss himself with laughter. That is... If he didn't already know. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Hmm, well, let's see. I know you like to get fat on shit from stalls and read magazines," he starts, more actively focused on the conversation now that he felt engaged. "I also know that..." He pauses, voice trailing off into digital nothingness. Was he actually having a brain fart right now? Wow, the legendary Johnny Silverhand wasn't perfect after all! As much as he liked to think so, he was actually just a flawed, narcissistic asshole! </p>
<p> </p>
<p>V makes a "that's what I thought" face and closes her eyes, tilting her head back against her crate so she could get a few seconds of rest while she recovered from the out-of-body experience she'd been unknowingly trapped in for goodness knows how long. She knows Johnny would have to alert her if anyone was coming, so really, besides the fact that there was a fucking dead body in the room with her, she was just in a cosy motel room of sorts with time to relax. Sleep quickly overcomes her; eventually, she doesn't even register the stench of corpse slowly invading her nostrils. Her arms and legs go lax. Misty comes to mind— she'd talked about surrendering mind and body to the universe as a form of relaxation to help with stress. V supposed this would be similar to what she meant, right? </p>
<p> </p>
<p>I surrender to thee, world, she playfully thinks in her sleepy haze. In contrast to her usual steel grip on life, this 'submission' to the universe was quite relaxing. She could feel her limbs tingling as the stress of her life's situation ebbed through her fingers and toes. The absence of power felt empowering in a way; she could feel her arm lifting to her stomach and it didn't even feel it was from her own will. Her abdomen sunk marginally with the weight, and her hand slowly began rubbing it in circles. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"That's right. Relax," Johnny mocks. As he says that, the harmless hand on her stomach trails beneath her shirt and up to her bra, where the palm of her hand finds purchase on her breast. The floaty feeling of meditation and naïvity quickly evolve into anxiety and dread in the bottom of her gut. Despite her fear, a gentle warmth sprouts in her pants, too, but she ignores that. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"What the fuck are you doing?" She sits upright and hunches forward, but a force slams her back against the crate, banging her head harshly on the metal ridges in the process. V's world begins tilting up and down in the corners, the rush of blood throughout her body combined with an unhealthy dose of cortisol and adrenaline making her vision swim. "Stop it!" </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Johnny does the exact opposite. He sneaks his hand under the fabric of her bra, and begins twiddling with her nipple haphazardly. Although it was her own hand and she could feel the sensation, she knew Johnny could, too— she didn't give any response to the stimulus, but he seemed to figure out the pressure of pinching that felt nicest, which must have meant he was tuned in to some degree. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>V swallows thickly. Her chest rises and falls rapidly and sweat begins rapidly collecting on the sides of her nose and across the surface of her forehead. Was Johnny really molesting her through her own body right now? </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I know you like to get off to those magazines next to your bed. I know you haven't ever actually finished yourself off— pathetic." Silverhand rubs his metallic fingers along the seam of V's pants, stopping when he reaches her clit to harshly press down. It makes her squirm, try to retaliate because fuck, this couldn't be happening right now, but he kept a firm control over her core, keeping it seated on the floor and backed up against the cold container. She couldn't fight back whatsoever. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Please- I'll smoke, just fucking stop." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"This will feel better for both of us, so quit complaining." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>'Despairing' is the only word V could possibly use to describe her situation right now. Still, as he uses her to squeeze her own tits and slowly begins pulling at the waistband of her pants, she can't help but feel hot under the collar. Johnny was attractive, sure. She'd admit that. But she didn't want anything to do with him— not with that vile personality accompanying him and the odd situation that's forced them to be caged enemies. And still he was pressing forward in claiming her, gradually increasing in intensity as her body stopped violently shaking in immediate reaction to the intrusion. Was it his own arousal that was leaking into her body, making her feel this way? She can't think of any other explanation. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Slowly, Johnny slides under V's pants. His metallic hand is freezing against her hot skin; the cold prosthetic incites goosebumps along the flesh it touches. He stops in the thatch of her pubic hair, gently twirling the hairs and sliding over them in a way akin to the guitar strings he manipulated to create a beautiful music so many years ago. The strange illusion of seeing her own skin but feeling an entirely different texture was off-putting, but admittedly, it wasn't unwelcome in the sense that she was overheating with fear and the cool was a great countermeasure. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He continues this pattern for a while, seemingly content with exploring the small curves around V's increasing heat and her chest. She supposed the sensations were entirely new to him; besides feeling good, they were alien and foreign experiences to Johnny, which meant a moment for becoming accommodated was in order. V took advantage of this and used his slow progression as time to try and calm herself— think positive thoughts. Think about shooting the bastard in the head... </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Was it a minute or an hour that had passed? Time had been warped under a thick coat of anxiety and slight arousal. Suddenly, though, things moved forward. Johnny puts his foot down on the metaphorical accelerator and quickly lunges forward to dip his forefinger into the start of her heat, the hole having been slicked up with V's fluids against her best wishes— or maybe it was for the best? This encounter was going to happen regardless of her opposing, so maybe her wetness would come in handy to ease the physical pain, if only a little. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Fuck..." Johnny mumbles in their head. He slides his digit further, slowly invading V the same way his chip continues to conquer her brain, bringing about a slow death that she gradually nears with each day. That devastating thought, thankfully, can't even manage to get a footing in her brain; the small burn from being entered and the fact that it's even happening in the first place is all that V can think about. Once Johnny's finger—or V's finger—is totally inside, he curls upward, grazing against the pleasure spot inside of her. She exhales shakily in response, head tilting back to gently rest against the surface behind her. Jarringly, she was aware that the corpse was behind her somewhere, and it made her wince. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Just relax. It won't feel good if you don't," he chimes. Johnny may be right; there was a reason V had never been able to finish, and given the amount of times she's tried before, she's pretty certain it's not her technique that's the issue. Her lifestyle is inherently toxic and stressful. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Issue is: how is she supposed to relax right now? Would Johnny even be happy if she— if they couldn't finish? Did he expect them to sit here for hours, as if they were at home in her apartment where they couldn't be disturbed by killers with guns?! </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Johnny slowly pumps the sole finger in and out. Once the pain has subsided enough for him to personally handle it comfortably, he rapidly picks up pace. Thing is, since V was on the omega-blockers religiously, they weren't as strongly connected as they should be; Johnny's attachment to her physical senses was weaker than it would have been otherwise. Therefore, the pain is still evident, and as he rapidly begins ravaging her tight walls, she can't help but groan. A quiet sloshing sound emanates from her area— lewd and obscene. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"We're gonna get... Caught..." V tries to say, but even her mind's internal dialogue was stuttering under the pain and pleasure. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Then I guess you should hurry up," he responds. The lack of concern over the situation was such a blatantly typical characteristic of Silverhand. Through the memories she'd been subjected to visiting, V could already tell he lived in the moment and could hardly understand the concept of a consequence, let alone foresee one. He acts without thought for anyone or the future. This situation is no different. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Johnny removes her other hand from her breast, and moves to gently circle her clit in a clockwise motion. He puts two fingers inside her cunt, too, the cold metal-flesh soothing V's burning a little, and he additionally continues his vicious pace from before. Combined with a relatively slow circling of her nub that doesn't send her into an uncomfortable overstim, this was blissful and unbearably painful at the same time. V felt like she was melting into Johnny's movements, helpless to stop them but unwilling to resist them. The pressure of needing to finish was weighing on her mind heavily, though, which was halting her from truly enjoying the experience as best she could. That, and she still wished they could just stop this entirely. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Fuck, you're tight," he huffs. It sounded as if he was almost insulting her— or, at least, he was degrading her over it. "You're not gonna finish in time~," he drawls. V knows he wouldn't stop until she climaxed. He was just reminding her of the extreme pressure placed on her to get her job done... As if that'd help her to begin with. Didn't he say she needed to relax more?! "I don't know if I should be disgusted at you or turned on, really." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Insulting me... Isn't gon' help much, y'know.." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Save yourself the trouble of pretending that I care. If you're caught, it's your embarrassment to live with. I'm just interested in getting some enjoyment out of my situation, doll." His selfish, egotistical personality was shooting bullets into her heart. Still, at the same time, the lack of care for V was hot to her, deep down. It was like she was a fleshlight for Johnny to rut and cum into as much as he wanted, and whenever he wanted. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Johnny stops thrusting his fingers in favour of deeply scraping them up against V's walls, massaging her g-spot thoroughly. The hand on her clit picks up pace marginally. The violated merc can only moan and buck her hips a little to try and catch the sensation enough for it to deliver her release. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>With each circle completed on her gorgeous clit, she was getting louder. Her brain, at this point, was a puddle that had no control over her actions or feelings; Johnny was well and truly in control. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Per-leazee..." She whimpers out loud. Embarrassment was making her core even hotter, even wetter. The shame of being turned on by a fucking terrorist in her brain, of all things, was too heavy to bear, and its raw appeal in this circumstance was fuel to the fire of her building orgasm. The sounds from her cunt were vulgar beyond compare; she was ashamed and drenched. What wasn't coated on her controlled fingers was leaking out onto her perinium and underwear, leaving a patch that would definitely be uncomfortable to walk home in— assuming they got out of this alive. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Begging? That's a new level of pathetic, even for you. I didn't know that was possible."</p>
<p>Did he know what his words were doing? Well, probably. V arched her back and leant forward into her own hands, her bottom lip firmly between her teeth. The pain of two fingers in her cunt was like she was being overheated by a quickhack, but at the same time, it was like he'd really put his prosthetic digits inside of her, which was euphoric beyond reasonable description. And her clit? It was swollen with blood, a result of her arousal. The quick laps around it were winding her up for her finish quicker than she could've ever imagined— this man's control over her was like the vibrator she'd never had. She was getting closer... </p>
<p> </p>
<p>And closer... </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Johnny, I think-" she cuts herself off with a surprised gasp and moan as she finishes on his fingers, eyes crazed and tilting towards the back of her head out of enjoyment. She'd never felt something so intense or pleasurable, and Johnny rode them both through it, fingers jammed as deep they could go inside of her and palm pressuring her throbbing clit. He didn't say anything while she practically convulsed with the power of her first true orgasm, but V thought she quietly heard a deep groan in the recess of her mind at one point. As her pleasure died down and the hormones floating in her head begun to subside in quantity, V was pulled to reality and gripped her gun, hands trembling with shock. She'd been assaulted using her own body, with a dead body in the same room, and gonkbrains outside the door. Not only that, but the guy that had assaulted her was literally the dead-for-fifty-years Johnny fucking Silverhand! And she came because of him! </p>
<p> </p>
<p>She stood upright with wide eyes, and pushed the door open quietly. Fuck this gig; she was leaving now without hunting the rest down. She'd blown enough holes in enough people today and the incident that'd transpired was more than enough adrenaline and trauma to last the whole week. It wasn't worth her credits. V snuck down the stairwell leading to the building's entrance, and pulled the guy standing watch into her arms, swiftly putting him to sleep with some pressure in the right places. Then, she sprinted outside and took a sharp left down the street, her car parked at the end. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Upon returning to her apartment, V chugged two pills. The side effects and risks could get fucked; she wanted Johnny gone for awhile. She wanted peace and quiet for one moment to process the day without his sadistic input and suggestions. She fell face-first into her bed, gripped the sheets at either side of her head, and cried. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Cried, until she fell asleep. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Cried, until Johnny felt a pang of guilt for what he'd done.</p>
<p> </p>
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